Domination's Delight: Wet Awakening (L)

The first sliver of dawn painted the bedroom in shades of bruised purple and pale pink, but I didn't give her a chance to register the light. With a swift, decisive movement, I rolled her onto her back, pinning her legs beneath her, forcing them upward toward her chest. No hesitation, no preamble, just a primal surge of dominance taking hold. My fingers, cold and firm, plunged deep inside her, driving straight up against her swollen G-spot. It was a brutal, insistent pressure, immediately eliciting a response. Her clitoris, already slick with anticipation, pulsed with a frantic energy. She was still half-asleep, lost in the hazy transition between sleep and wakefulness, but her body was a living testament to the escalating desire within her.

“Cum for me, Cin,” I growled, my voice low and gravelly, laced with command. “Drench my fucking bed.” The words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. For a moment, a flicker of resistance passed across her face, a tiny rebellion against my control. But it was fleeting, quickly swallowed by the rising tide of lust. A few seconds of hesitation, a desperate clinging to the last vestiges of her conscious thought, then it broke. Her hips began to spasm violently, a chaotic rhythm of muscle and bone that vibrated through her entire body. The gush came, an unstoppable torrent of pleasure, spraying upwards into my mouth and onto my chest, soaking the sheets between us in a warm, glistening deluge. I didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, I licked her taste off my skin like syrup, savoring the exquisite sensation of her arousal, the raw, unbridled energy radiating from her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed that fast,” she gasped, her voice strained, her breathing ragged. “It’s overwhelming.”

“Breakfast in bed, baby,” I replied, my voice a low rumble of satisfaction. “Let’s get you back in gear.”

Later that morning, as she stepped into the shower, I saw my opportunity. I moved with a predatory grace, catching her from behind, wrapping my arms around her torso, one hand firmly across her throat, the other hand expertly positioned between her legs. The pressure was immediate and intense, a sharp, delicious constriction that sent shivers down her spine. Two fingers, angled precisely against her G-spot, mirroring the brutal curl that had so effectively broken her resistance earlier. No warm-up, no gentle teasing, just pure, unadulterated force.

She started trembling uncontrollably, her body a taut, vulnerable thing, so sensitive she could barely stand. “Daddy!” she whimpered, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and desperate pleasure.

“That’s it, Cin. Cum for me again,” I commanded, my voice firm, devoid of any emotion.

And she did. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that crashed over her, leaving her limp and spent. It was a smaller squirt this time, but the speed and intensity were undeniable. She was getting better, honing her reflexes, pushing the boundaries of her pleasure. I felt a surge of satisfaction, a perverse pleasure in her escalating arousal.

Afterward, I slapped her ass once, a quick, decisive blow that left a stinging reminder of my dominance. "Good girl," I purred, my voice dripping with praise.

That evening, we played a dangerous game while out at dinner. We chose a quiet booth in a dimly lit restaurant, hoping to maintain a semblance of privacy. But even in the shadows, my intentions were clear. I slid under the table, my hand deftly maneuvering between her thighs beneath her dress. The effect was immediate and palpable. She stiffened, her eyes wide with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

I didn’t finger her deep, just a light, teasing tap against her clit, a single, slow stroke followed by another, and then a third. The rhythm was slow, deliberate, designed to build anticipation, to tease her into submission. "You know what happens if you cum right here, baby?" I whispered, my voice low and husky, laced with a subtle threat.

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed crimson with arousal. She shook her head vehemently, a silent plea for mercy that I promptly ignored. Good. She wasn't ready for public ruin, not this kind of humiliation. Not yet. But the heat in her eyes, the barely suppressed desire that simmered beneath her skin, was undeniable. She was thinking about it. She was wanting it.

Aftermath: Tender Ownership

That night, I took my time, indulging in the slow, deliberate pleasure of her submission. There was no brutal, frantic pounding, no desperate need for release. Instead, I focused on her pleasure, meticulously controlling every aspect of our encounter. One hand rested gently on her throat, holding her exactly where I wanted her, while the other hand caressed her breast, ensuring her complete submission. No squirting, no frantic release. I needed to savor every moment, to prolong her pleasure, to reinforce my control.

“Fill me, daddy,” she begged, her voice a breathless plea, her legs wrapped tightly around me in a desperate embrace.

And I did. The last two and a half days were filled with a frenzied pursuit of her pleasure, a constant cycle of dominance and submission, designed to push her limits, to teach her the true meaning of her place in my world. Each time she reached the brink, each time she felt the overwhelming urge to release, I held her back, maintaining my control, ensuring that she never truly escaped my grasp. I forced her to reach the peak, then pull away, leaving her wanting, always wanting, dependent on my touch.

Finally, as the sun began to rise again, painting the bedroom in hues of rose and gold, I turned my attention to a more intimate act. I slipped beneath the covers, taking her into my arms, holding her close. I gently massaged her lower abdomen, feeling the heat building beneath her dress. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I unzipped her dress, exposing her swollen body to the light.

I reached down, still inside her, and took up some of her cum, savoring the sweet, salty taste. I licked it off my fingers, then slid the same two fingers into her mouth, prodding her to open it wider. She moaned, her body arching in response, her pleasure reaching a fever pitch. Then, I kissed her, swapping our fluids, sharing our combined taste, a final act of dominance, a potent reminder of my ownership.

It was a moment of exquisite pleasure, a culmination of days of careful control and unbridled desire. But beneath the surface of our shared arousal, there was something else, something darker, something more profound. It was the knowledge that she was mine, completely and utterly, a possession to be enjoyed, a pleasure to be exploited, a testament to my power. And as I held her close, feeling the heat of her arousal radiating through my own body, I knew that this was only the beginning. Our twisted dance of dominance and submission would continue, endlessly, until the end of time. The scent of her arousal, mixed with my own, lingered in the air, a potent reminder of our shared transgression, a silent promise of more pleasure to come. It was a beautiful, terrible thing. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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